


Weaker Than The Feeble Strength of One

by fictorium



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Times Will Made Mackenzie Shut The Hell Up (and one time she finally got him to shut his damn mouth, too).</p><p>Title from Ralph Chaplin, Solidarity Forever, 1916 (via the Weakerthans' song, Pamphleteer)</p><p>For only_takes_one @LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weaker Than The Feeble Strength of One

1.

“All I am saying, Billy--and I really do have a point here--is that if you’re going to pay a man millions of dollars--millions!--to play a glorified game of rounders, then he should be able to hit the damn ball!”

 

“Two things,” Will fires back, shoving his hands in his pockets against the evening chill, smiling as she links her arm through his. “First of all, you grew up here, so you don’t get to do that snotty thing about baseball not being a real sport. And second of all, this doesn’t get you out of our bet.”

 

“But surely, contractually speaking, the bet is rendered null and void by virtue of the fact that--”

 

He stops and turns in one fluid motion, backing her against the scratchy brick wall of a 7-11, and kisses her squarely on the mouth, her lips still in motion as he captures them.

 

A moment later and the fight seeps out of her, and Mackenzie is kissing him back, a hand snaking past the collar of his leather jacket to grasp the back of his neck.

 

“Get a room!” Some passing idiot yells, breaking the moment and by extension the kiss.

 

“Not a bad idea,” Mackenzie breathes, and Will finds himself compelled to agree.

 

2.

 

“Wake up!” She urges, nails grazing his shoulder gently, just the way he likes. “The whole world is already up and the snow fell overnight and--”

 

He rolls right into the kiss, morning breath and valid points be damned.

 

“Jetlag,” he reminds her with a grunt, not opening his eyes the whole time. Will rolls back over and falls straight back to sleep, her “Merry Christmas” ringing in his ears.

 

3.

 

“Don’t,” he says for the twentieth time, and by this point there’s no use in pretending it’s anything other than pleading. He sits on the leather couch, head in his hands, as she paces laps around the coffee table she picked out last year, another step forward to her moving in (before the two steps back of a renewed lease, another fight that didn’t need to ever happen).

 

“I’m trying to make you understand,” Mackenzie says, her voice cracked and half an octave lower than normal. “If you just listen to me.”

 

“C’mere,” Will says, patting the cushion next to him in something like defeat. She scurries over, a glint of hope in her eyes that he already knows he’s going to relish crushing. She’s going to know just a little of what this feels like, even if it’s killing them both.

 

He takes her face tenderly in his hands, marveling once more at the fragile beauty of her, the paleness of that soft skin over delicate bones that he’s stared at for longer than any sane person ever should. 

 

She closes her eyes when he leans in for the kiss, and it’s better that way, because the sick feeling at the base of his throat doesn’t want to see the glint die, not anymore.

 

“Goodbye, Mac,” he says, forehead against hers when the kiss ends. “No more talking.”

 

She lets the tears fall this time, but doesn’t say another word. Mackenzie looks back as she drops her keys on the table by the door, probably for the last time. Will sees her gaze coming and ducks his head.

 

It’s done.

 

4.

 

There are so many almosts, so many nearlies, so many goddamned step-in-close-then-pull-aways that she seems to forget to be on her guard around him; they get complacent, and fast.

 

Maybe it’s the near-death experience or the constant, looming threats, but Mackenzie very quickly gets back in the habit of telling him off, and sometimes it’s like they never broke up, never hurt each other so badly that three years of silence was the safest way to get through it.

 

She’s never silent now, not when she’s running his newsroom like a slightly chaotic military operation, all heart and skill and running like fuck when the bombs start dropping. That’s what makes Will feel like he has to tell her off, to remind her about the quiet discipline of the good men that came before, but somewhere in his second point she takes over, steering the conversation to his failings as an anchor and the punches he’s pulled.

 

He isn’t even listening as she builds to her irritated crescendo (has she slept? Are any of them sleeping this week, or just living on energy drinks and fractured naps in empty offices?) just watching the way her lips move, and he’s thinking about old habits the same way as his fingers flex and itch for a cigarette every time he attempts to give up.

 

“Mac!” He interrupts, but she just keeps going. Something about his irresponsible use of the past tense when... oh, who the hell cares.

 

He’s behind her, seated at the desk, and it takes a moment to get close enough to lay hands on her, but Mackenzie, ever dependable, doesn’t even take a breath.

 

“You have to trust your team,” she says, and it’s just a little too close to a whine for either of them to be comfortable.

 

“I trust you,” he says, fingers twisting the silk of her blouse as he grips her shoulders. “I trust you, Mac, okay?”

 

He doesn’t let her answer, because that’s usually where questions go wrong for them, in either direction. He kisses her, quickly and softly, and it doesn’t even hurt that she tastes a little different now, three years later. It doesn’t hurt that he doesn’t remember clearly enough to know if that’s the same lipstick, because he remembers the little sound of her breath catching in her throat.

 

Will might remember a lot more too, but Jim comes knocking and the moment is gone.

 

“Come in!” Mac calls out, and this time she doesn’t sound quite so frustrated.

 

5.

 

“You know, it’s not too late to just call the whole thing off. It got out of hand, people will understand that, if explained to them in just that way--”

 

“Mac!” He calls, still fussing with the bow tie she insisted on. “We’re doing this.”

 

“You sure?” She asks, fussing with the hemline of her ivory dress one last time.

 

“It’s City Hall, it’s forty people,” Will reassures her. “And then an evening in your favorite restaurant. What got out of hand?”

 

“Billy, maybe we should have eloped,” Mac says, gearing up for part three of the rant. He pulls her down onto his lap, lets her kiss him instead.

 

“We still can,” he says, ignoring the nerves coursing through his own body like the macarena. “But since we already organized today...”

 

“Okay,” she says, suddenly resolute. “We’d better get going, then.”

 

“Right behind you,” Will says, still just a little surprised by how much he means exactly that. 

 

6.

 

“Windows!” Will yells, causing the last remaining staff to scatter from the other side of the glass that forms the wall of his office. “He wants to roll down windows! At 35,000 feet!”

 

“Will,” Mackenzie sighs, not much caring if it bloody well sounds patient, because any last fragments of her patience evaporated during the first three iterations of this argument. Even Charlie couldn’t stick around for the big finish.

 

“I don’t mind that he doesn’t understand the intricacies of physics, or even what keeps a fucking plane in the air,” Will winds up, his pacing punctuated by another sharp turn, sending a pile of paper cascading from the desk.

 

Enough, she thinks, grabbing him by the sweater as he passes, pulling him into a kiss that takes his breath away. She’s always been good at that one, long before the ring ended up on her finger.

 

“You mind,” she says, as they compose themselves again. She really didn’t mean to break the ‘no married stuff at the office’ rule, but well, they already broke that in the copy room last week, and the janitor’s closet after the show on Friday, so... principles are for journalism, and that’s just how it goes. “You mind that he doesn’t know that adding oxygen to fire is probably the worst thing anyone could do in that situation,” Mackenzie finishes, rolling her eyes.

 

“Okay, it’s possible I expressed this same frustration earlier today,” Will concedes, scowling as she holds up four fingers in accusation.

 

“Yeah,” she says. “You can have ninety seconds before the second break.”

 

“But don’t we want to at least discuss--”

 

“Nope,” she finishes, standing to leave. “Jim will bring you the rundown for the rest of the show.”

 

“You’re a harsh woman,” he accuses, a fleeting hand on her hip as she passes.

 

“That’s why you love me,” she singsongs over her shoulder, pushing the door and walking out into the newsroom.

 

“That’s not the only reason!” He calls out, and Mackenzie can’t help smiling all the way back to her own office.


End file.
